I'll Be Seeing You
by amelia day
Summary: "Aren't you sick of riding around in this old thing anyway?" I ask, buckling my seatbelt as Peeta approaches. "With you? Never." Peeta and Katniss spend a summer at the fair. Modern Day AU.


**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

Thank you to my beta: fnur for all her help with this one-shot. This was originally written for the Day 3 prompt: The Fair on tumblr's _Pr__ompts in Panem. _Enjoy!

* * *

I'll Be Seeing You...

* * *

I know it'll be a long day when a breeze so warm it's nearly suffocating circulates through the open window before I leave for the morning. I close the blinds in hopes of blocking out some of the sun that has caused the paint on the windowsill to bubble and peel, but can't close the window entirely.

The AC has been broken for a couple of weeks now, and every morning I _swear to god _I'm going to call someone to fix it.

But by evening I'm too tired to give a shit.

I was right though, this day _is_ never ending. It's a little past three in the afternoon and the tarp I take cover under does little to nothing to block out the sun's persistent glare.

"Better get used to it, kid," Sae snickers when she notes me putting on my _third_ coating of sunblock for the day. "Summer's just begun."

"I'm used to it," I argue stubbornly, to which I earn a snort which holds a tinge of finality to it. I fall back into the old and slightly uncomfortable lawn chair that I can't _really _complain about because it was provided to me for free... and it beats sitting on the blistering concrete.

This heat is nothing out of the ordinary for Panem summers. And I _am _used to spending long days outside in it. Working at the county fair is definitely not a job I acquired recently. I've been selling jam for as long as I can remember.

This is just my first year alone.

People have literally traveled _hours_ just to sample my father's homemade fruit jams. He's made every kind under the sun - strawberry, raspberry, blueberry, peach, apricot... you name it, he's jammed it. And it really is _delicious. _

But, that's because he cared. He cared about the people he was selling to, always prided himself off of making others happy. And he cared about his family - which is why he always worked his damnedest to earn an honest living and keep us eating and clothed and in our modest home just a lil' ways up the street.

He did a _damn good job._

But, he's not around anymore to do the caring himself, which is why I vowed to do it for him right before he passed a few months ago during the earliest signs of spring.

Dad was a young man, but he was sick.

In the off-season of jam selling, Dad worked long hours down in Panem's only local mines - and even sometimes in the summer, just to keep a steady income. Those were the days he'd put me in charge of the stand here and Prim would play my typical role as the "helper."

Well, ya don't need a degree to know the air down in mines ain't so sweet. Breathing it in day in, day out didn't do much for Dad's health and eventually, his lungs quit trying.

I swallow a large lump that forms in the base of my throat at the thought and turn my head in the opposite direction of Sae, crossing my arms over my middle comfortably. My foot rests lazily inside of the wagon I use to cart back and forth the jars of jam and I find my fingers weaving and twirling the bottom portion of my braid.

It's vital I appear confident even though I don't _feel confident. _The spot Dad's acquired at the fair over the years is prime real-estate - one of the busiest intersections in the whole park. He's worked years to build up the reliability and quality of his business. I refuse to let it all crumble in a matter of months.

As much as Sae likes to tease me, she's proven herself to be a trusted ally to my father. She's a big woman, at least over sixty and has long and beautiful gray hair she keeps tucked back in a ponytail. And she sells the _best_ pork I've ever tasted.

Sae actually owns her own restaurant in town, she just runs this stand in addition during the summers, for extra business. In the past, I'd overheard her and father chatting about possibly collaborating during the colder months - she allows Dad's jams in her diner, Dad gives her ten percent of profit, but they never quite worked out the logistics of the whole thing before he died.

And she hasn't mentioned a word of it to me, yet.

I think Sae is still trying to figure out if I'm enough like my father... just like everyone else is. Business has been slow these past couple of weeks without his friendly face greeting every person who passes by but there are some things my father has that I will never.

It's all right if they feel me out, because I've yet to decide if I trust them or not. I know my father had a general good standing with most the other vendors around him, but he was a popular man - _of course _vendors wanted to be buddies with the man who owned one of the most well-liked stands in the fair.

But his daughter? It would be laughable to some of the other big-shots, but father wouldn't dream of leaving his recipes to anyone but family.

When four-thirty rolls around, and I see Sae turning down the heat of her stoves and fryers, I start to pack up my own belongings for the night. The fair doesn't end until after nine in the evening, but sitting here all day is tedious work, and by five o'clock no one at the county fair is looking for jam.

But, going home doesn't seem like a particularly appealing option either.

I load the remaining containers into my wagon and note that with significantly less weight resting inside of it, it's far less of a pain in the ass to pull. So, in the end, I end up walking idly around the park, wagon in tow, until I come to rest in front of the oldest attraction at the fair - the ferris wheel.

I crane my neck in order to meet the top of its large structure and smile fondly at the distant memories we share. We've grown up together, this ferris wheel and I, and my butt has grown accustomed to spending most its summer nights in gondola number fifteen.

Haymitch grunts when I ask him to watch over my wagon, slipping him a couple dollar bills that'll get me at least three rides around.

He's been working here too long. I've watched him transform from the upbeat man who always wore a smile and handed out candy to kids in line to the old drunk who stumbles home in the streets late at night.

Every year I see him here I expect it to be the last, but every summer here he is, standing guard over his precious ferris wheel, scaring kids away rather than welcoming them as he used to.

The wheel comes to halt about halfway up and I'm right in line with the tall pine trees that lace the outskirts of the fair. If I really wanted to, I could reach out and touch the tips of them I am so close.

My eyebrows furrow at the hold up though, because typically we only stop to allow more people to get on, and it's been _years _since Haymitch has had a line of people waiting.

I chance a glance down and what the fuck do you know, there's a group of overly rough teenagers mobbing the entrance to the wheel. Haymitch looks thoroughly frightened and has to use his speaker to gain their attention, gruffly asking: _On or off?_

"On!" one of the girls squeals, grabbing hold of her boyfriend's arm and literally tugging him toward the open seat. He trails behind her cooly, blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke before Haymitch grabs hold of his shoulder roughly.

"No smoking," he commands and the boy throws his hands up in the air as a sign of truce before throwing the small thing to the ground and stomping it out with his foot. Shortly after they fall out of my line of vision the wheel begins moving at a snail's pace, lowering me further to the ground before stopping again to pick up more passengers.

"Hey, I think I'll sit this one out. That hot dog isn't really agreeing with me," I overhear a boy claim as he runs a hand over his stomach for emphasis. I don't turn my head in the direction of the voice, but I hear the faint moans and groans of protest coming from his friends.

"Dude, you ate that thing like forty minutes ago."

"Exactly. It's fucking digesting," he continues to argue. "And not well."

"Wait a second... Mellark are you scared?" another voice rings out, and I swear I'm not trying to eavesdrop, really, but the lower we grow to the ground the easier it is to hear their loud voices and soon I'm completely on the ground and we come to a stop once more.

"On? Or off?" Haymitch asks, his voice monotone.

"No!" the boy insists to his remaining friends, completely ignoring Haymitch. He runs a hand over the back of his neck - in a very nervous fashion - and shifts back and forth on his feet.

"I told you, I think I ate something-"

"Oh my god, look at him sweat!" the same girl claims, jabbing her finger in the boy's direction before letting out a very unattractive cackle. "Peeta fucking Mellark, you're about to shit yourself, you're so scared!"

"Shut the fuck up, Clove, I'm not scared," he hisses back, his neck and cheeks turning a bright shade of red with her exclamation.

"Then quit being a _pussy _and hop on," she bites back, her voice spewing venom. She jumps into the cart in front of me, filling it up to it's maximum capacity and raises an eyebrow in the boy's direction, challengingly.

"_On or off?" _Haymitch growls, quickly losing the little patience he has left.

The nervous boy turns to his two remaining friends - an obvious couple by the way they hold one another's hands and searches their eyes for a possible way out of the current situation. It'd actually be amusing if he didn't look so genuinely terrified.

His friend smacks his shoulder, pulling him in closer before mumbling something incoherent into his ear.

"Oh," the nervous boy says, and his eyes dance between both members of the couple. "Yeah... yeah, totally."

"Are you comin', pansy?" the loud - and increasingly annoying - girl chants out.

"Hey!" the nervous boy's friend calls out, and although his eyes are meeting mine I glance around looking for who he could possibly be talking with. Both boys approach the wheel until they're standing directly in front of me, tugging the small "safety" gate open forcibly.

"You don't mind if he rides with you, right?"

"Er..."

"Great," the friend grins, flashing a thumbs up before calling over his girlfriend and moving into the compartment behind ours. The nervous boy slips in, rocking our compartment back and forth slightly as he adjusts his body weight, falling into the bench opposite of me.

He grabs hold of either sides of his belt, buckling and tightening it before making sure it for-certain works. I watch the way the veins in his arms bulge as he grips the metal bars that hold together either side of the cart, and how his chest rises and falls underneath his shirt with the effort it takes for him to remain calm.

His eyes, wide with horror - as if we're on our way to meet death - meet mine for a split second before I blink and twist to look the other direction. As the wheel begins to move, suspending us slowly higher into the sky I hear him gasp quietly. When I chance another look, his eyes are clamped shut and his knuckles are pure white with the effort it takes to hold on.

"It's just a stupid ride," he mumbles lowly to himself, gritting his teeth. There's a sheer sheet of sweat that laces his forehead and upper lip and his cheeks remain the same rosy color red, though from exertion or embarrassment, I'm not sure.

"How's it going down there, Mellark?" the voice of the definitely annoying girl rings out from above us and "Mellark" shakes his head slowly, as if he cannot even talk.

Part of me wants to slap him for allowing his friends to convince him to do something he clearly didn't want to, another part wants to help him prove them - especially her - wrong.

I'm not particularly good at helping people, though.

I snort, shaking my head and leaning further back into the uncomfortable plastic bench seats. At the noise, the boy across from me chances a look through slitted eyes which widen incredibly as his focus shifts to the sky behind me and he realizes just how high up we are.

His face is a humorous shade of green and I find it odd that my first thought centers around how the unnatural color of his skin brings out his eyes nicely.

"Aren't you a little too old to be scared of something like ferris wheels?" I find my voice speaking before I've given it permission and as his jaw slackens and he begins to blink wildly, my smirk deepens.

"I...," he stops to let out a short and unamused chuckle. "I'm not afraid of _ferris wheels."_

"Coulda fooled me."

"I don't like _heights," _he continues in spite of my teasing manner, but I only quirk an eyebrow in his direction as his eyes flit closed once more.

"Well then, a fair is a pretty dumb place for you to be, isn't it?"

"I heard it was fun. _Clearly,_ somebody lied."

"What's more fun than bad hot dogs and fear-inspiring rides?"

"I could think of just a couple," he snorts, shaking his downcast head. I watch as his hands turn from ghostly white to burning red, his grip evidently loosening on the bars.

He looks to be about my age, which confuses me greatly because I've definitely never seen him around here before, ever. Panem is a small, close-knit town. All one hundred and sixty-three who currently reside here attended Dad's funeral... and not one of them matched the face of the stranger who sits across from me now.

Him and his friends have a different presence about them anyway. It's clear they're outsiders from the way they talk and dress and act. Which is fine - the fair isn't exclusively for Panem residents (there's no way in hell it'd make enough money to continue on here that way), but typically teenagers prefer _larger, grander _amusement parks if they're going to do the traveling anyway.

He clears his throat not once but _three_ times and then, as if reading my mind, asks: "Are you from 'round here?"

"Yup," I nod and then cross my arms over my stomach. "You're not though."

My answer takes him by surprise and he lifts his head up, cocking an eyebrow in response, though his eyes are still closed.

"What makes you say that?" his voice hitches just slightly as the wheel gives an unsettling lurch, and the pale shade of white reappears in his hands again.

"I've lived in Panem my whole life," I chuckle, without humor. "You're not from here."

"Okay, I'll give you that," he admits, laughing to himself or with me, but I'm not laughing so maybe he's silently hoping I'll join in. Just as I decide to laugh a little, his trails off and I try desperately to cover over the sound with a fake cough which sounds _extremely fake. _

He goes on to explain how he's from Capitol - a town that's a little over two and a half hours from Panem - and will be residing here for the summer (along with his less-than-ideal friends) to help out with some new building project going on in town.

No one was particularly pleased to hear about the new houses and developments that would be sprouting up around town.

Panem is somewhat historic, with buildings that date back to the late 1800s. Even our "newest" developments are several decades old. "New" and "changing" are not words commonly used in our vocabulary.

But who are we against state regulations and laws? If someone owns the land, they have the right to do whatever with it, even if it irks everyone within a hundred-mile radius.

"Voluntary?" I wonder aloud. "Or are you being paid?"

"Voluntary," he sorta frowns. "Looks good on college applications. A chance to get out of town for a few months."

"Isn't like you're across the globe," I grumble and the corners of his lips turn up.

"Might as well be," he chuckles, smacking a fly from his bare arm. "Panem isn't anything like Capitol."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I bite back, defensively. Of course I know Panem is outdated as fuck, but it's what I've grown used to and comfortable around. And I definitely don't need some city-slicker coming at me with their loud opinions on how we choose to live.

"Nothing!" he backpeddles. "It's different is all. Good different. I like it here."

"Me too," I shoot back, still unconvinced of his meanings.

We loop around once in silence and when we're almost back to the very top of the wheel, it slows to a complete stop. I watch as panic begins to flood the boy's face in front of me and although his eyes remain closed, I can feel the anguish bubbling off of him.

"What's wrong?" he demands, his arms beginning to shake just slightly. "Why did we stop?"

"How do you know we've stopped?" I question evenly. "Your eyes have been closed the entire time."

He doesn't respond, but his breathing picks up slightly and he leans forward further into his legs.

I look out and around us and wonder silently how anyone could possibly be afraid of something so magnificent. With the sun beginning to set, the sky has turned a beautiful shade of orange and in the distance a flock of birds fly in a perfectly symmetrical 'V.' The shadows from the pine trees we now tower over reflect beautifully off the small lake which is so far below us I have to crane my body to meet it.

"We're on the ground, that's why we stopped," I speak evenly and before I have the chance to admit I'm only teasing, his eyes burst open in excitement and he exclaims: "Really?"

"No!-"

"-Oh god," he groans, shoving his head down in-between his knees. "I really think I'm going to be sick."

His hand that's not busy gripping the side of our compartment comes to knot itself in his thick blonde hair, tugging at the ends roughly.

"I'm sorry," I try apologizing meaningfully, but due to a mixture of things; like the fact that he's literally hyperventilating before me, the awkwardness of the situation and that I really have _zero _people-skills what-so-ever...

I laugh.

And once it's started, I can't find it in me to stop. Like a shattered dam letting water break through rapidly, there is nothing I can do but watch in horror as I _laugh _in this stranger's face.

I don't think I've ever inappropriately laughed this hard before, _ever_. Not when Prim got her head stuck in-between the banister rails, or when we found out the hard way we're severely allergic to bee-stings, or when our Aunt Effie came to visit right after she got a very noticeable boob-job.

"Glad someone finds this amusing," he grumbles once his breathing and my laughter have calmed down some, and we've begun moving once more.

"Open your eyes," I command and he shakes his head.

"Nuh uh. No way in hell I'm trusting you ever again."

"Just open them," I say with more authority, and he lifts his head so that his bright blue eyes land on my own. They're a deep shade of blue - not quite dark enough to compare to the night sky but not clear enough to remind me of water.

They're nice.

"There you go," I commend, turning to fix my gaze outward, though from the corner of my eye I can see his are still on me. "Are you dead?"

"No," he breathes. "But very, very close."

I smirk, pulling my long braid over the side of my shoulder before meeting his eyes again.

"There are worse things to fear than heights."

"What's your name?" he wonders a moment after our compartment touches the safety of the ground again. He runs a hand over his forehead, pushing back his sweaty bangs which stick straight up from perspiration.

"Katniss."

His face contorts in confusion - like most do when I introduce myself - but he quickly disguises the look as interest, nodding his head and chewing it over.

"Well, thank you for braving my presence, Katniss. I'm Peeta."

"Peeta," I begin right as his loudmouth friend steps into view, carrying on obnoxiously with whoever will listen. His gaze follows mine and his lips press into a hard line.

_I don't like her... _

Peeta sort of half-snorts, half-chuckles beside me and my cheeks turn red as I realize I've spoken aloud when I meant to only think that in my mind, and immediately my hand flies up to cover my lips.

"Sorry," I breathe.

"Eh, don't be," he brushes the comment off. "She gets that reaction... _a lot. _I'm not even sure her boyfriend particularly likes her."

I roll my eyes.

"You were brave," I conclude when we've grown awkwardly silent, neither one of us making our way out from off of the ferris wheel. Peeta's cheeks glow red and his downcast gaze meets mine for only a second before he's on his feet and moving off of the cart.

"I should catch up..." he trails, as if he owes me any sort of explanation. As if we didn't just meet fifteen minutes ago. "Nice meeting you."

"See you," I mumble back, waiting until he's lost in the crowd of people to get up and grab my wagon to head for home.

* * *

When the jam business first started to _really _take off, and we were making hundreds of jars of jam on a weekly basis, Mom decreed that the house was simply not big enough to hold all the "product" and we had to figure out some place new.

Dad agreed with her readily, and we spent the next month and a half creating the pantry space that sits nearby the house in the backyard.

I walk up the gravel driveway, listening as the wheels scrape loudly against the pebbles and the jars of jam bounce against the tin of the wagon's bed until I pull off into the grass, then silence overtakes the land once more.

I pull off my shoes once off the hard cement and let the blades of grass slip in-between the cracks of my sweaty toes. The ground is moist from the sprinklers Prim must have set off sometime this afternoon and I have to keep my mind focused, because all I really want to do right now is lay down underneath one of the trees and fall asleep.

I unlock the door leading to the large pantry space and pull the wagon in after me. There's about five shelves built into three of the four walls, all of which are filled up nicely with all different kinds of jam. I place the leftover containers in their respective spots (categorized by flavor) and lock back up before hopping up the rotted wood steps of the back porch. It creaks and groans in protest with every step my foot takes before I slide the back door open and step inside.

_Damnit, I need to call someone about this AC. _

The house is unbearably muggy, and I'm left even more confused as to why the windows are all sealed up.

"Hello?" I call out, rectifying the window situation along the way. "Prim?"

"Hey, Katniss!" she calls back and I follow her voice to where it leads in the kitchen, where she's elbow-deep in soap suds. She places a soaked - but clean - plate onto the countertop beside her and grins at me widely.

She wipes her hands on the denim of her overalls before crossing the room to pull me in her arms for a hug. Her long blonde hair is still tucked into the same french braid I put it in last night before bedtime. The humidity does nothing to help the normal frizziness her hair holds and tuffs hang out, framing her face messily. She smells floral due to the soap and I breathe in the scent for a long moment before letting go.

I'm somewhat relieved to see her doing the dishes, although I wish she didn't have to. When Dad died, Mom basically became useless. Everyone in town said her distant moods would only be a phase, that she'd knock herself out of it and our survival would outweigh any lingering heartache she experienced...

We're still waitin' on that.

Since Dad's death, Mother has done nothing but sit in her rocking chair, staring off into space thinking of god knows what. Occasionally, she'd float back down to earth and grace Prim and I with a soft smile that never fully reached her eyes, or a lingering touch to the cheek, sometimes even a short "hello." But these moments were fleeting and we learned not to mistake them as signs of recovery.

_She's not even trying, _the insensitive part of my brain snaps as feelings of anger and resentment bubble up inside of me. _She is selfish._

And sometimes I really believe this about my mother. I don't want to, but I do.

"Where's Mom?" I ask Prim, grabbing a dry dish rag to help her finish up with the dishes.

"I don't know," she shrugs her shoulders, passing me another bowl from the soapy water. "Probably where she always is."

"Did you close the windows?"

"No, she did. I tried to get her to stop but she wanted them closed."

I roll my eyes, "I'll call someone to fix the AC tonight. Promise."

"'Kay."

* * *

I find Mom exactly where Prim guesses she'd be: rocking back and forth in the corner of her bedroom, staring off into nothingness.

"Hi, Mom," I try softly, but even the soft sound of my voice startles her out of her slumped position. She continues to rock, turning her head to face me and stares, as if waiting for me to continue. She doesn't offer a smile, or hello in return, but at least she's looking - a sign she hasn't gone entirely brain-dead.

"I uh... just got home a little bit ago. Prim did the dishes and we're making some noodles for dinner."

My right foot steps on top of my left awkwardly and I run a hand through my hair as I wait for a response I know isn't coming. After Mom's "falling out" her doctor advised us to keep associating with her as we would in the past.

Prim is better at it. She comes up to her bedroom every night after she finishes with her homework and the newest episode of _Glee_ or _New Girl _or whatever she watches and brushes through Mom's hair and prattles on and on about seemingly stupid things.

But it's when Mother responds best.

"The jam stand is doing well," I mumble, sitting on the very edge of her bed. By now, she's turned her head back toward the empty bedroom wall and I count the number of times the floorboard squeaks beneath her rocker.

_Ten, eleven, twelve..._

I think about showing her the money from the fair today, but decide better of it. Financial matters are really no concern to Mother anymore, since I'm the one who makes sure nothing goes unpaid. After Dad's death, Mother was soon put on a disability leave from work, as a result we receive a check every other week. But that money is not everlasting...

And it's up to me to make sure we have a plan for what comes next.

* * *

"Try a sample?" my voice is low and timid - nothing like Dad's booming and inviting voice - but it's enough to attract one or two people, which then shortly after forms a crowd.

People reach out for the small plastic cups faster than I can dollop jam into them and almost immediately the familiar sounds of appreciation begin to ring out through them. People can't help but _mmm_ and _ahhh_ in appreciation - Dad was just _that_ good.

"I'll take a jar of the strawberry - err, better make that two. Oh, and could you also throw in-" the man's words in front of me trail off as my eyes - by some sort of strange chance - meet those of the boy I met just yesterday on the ferris wheel.

He stands with a bunch of people I assume to be his friends, wearing a bright-colored t-shirt which represents the program he's volunteering for. His friends start off in the direction of games, but I'm taken by surprise when I see his footsteps coming toward me.

"Ma'am?"

"Huh? What?" I ask, my head snapping toward the confused looking man who stands before me, pointing at my wagon.

"The jam?"

"Right. Sorry."

I pull his jars loose and stack them on top of the table between us, my hand extended to take the cash he pulls free from his wallet.

"Thanks again," I speak dismissively, my eyes trained on the boy who's looking around curiously. I come to stand in front of him and fold my arms around my chest.

"Anything I can help you with?"

"I didn't know you worked here," he speaks, picking up one of the display jars I keep to show all the flavor I offer.

"Why would you?" I challenge before nodding toward him. "Nice shirt."

He glances down at the brightness of it and smirks, "You almost need sunglasses just to look at it. Apparently, they don't want to lose us."

"Mission accomplished."

"I know, right?" he chuckles. "So is this stuff any good? Most these vendors are just shams when they have signs like: _voted best in all the county _and _number one judge's pick!"_

"Are you making fun of my jam?"

"No, I'm simply asking a question."

"See for yourself, then," I say, handing him a sampling cup of Dad's strawberry jam - an all-time crowd favorite. He eyes it suspiciously before spooning the small dollop into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks it over carefully.

"Okay that's pretty fucking good," he agrees, handing me a couple dollar bills. "I'll take a jar."

I hand him the jar with a satisfied smirk and place the money into my lock box.

"So, can't be working too hard if I keep seeing you around here," I state, leaning back into my uncomfortable chair.

Peeta opens his jar of jam, sticking a finger inside and licking it clean before screwing the lid shut once more.

"Already finished," he counters. "As you're probably well aware, there's not much to do around here after that, so you'll probably be seeing a lot of me."

The idea sends odd thrills down my spine.

"What time do you finish working?"

"Why?"

"I'm just making friendly conversation, Katniss," he snickers, and my eyes must widen - giving away my surprise because he adds, "Yes, I remember your name. How could I forget a name like _Katniss."_

"Do you typically repetitively insult strangers?"

"Not an insult," he shakes his head. "I think it's pretty, actually."

"For someone who was crying in a ferris wheel yesterday, you're a little too self-confident," I chide and smile to myself as his cheeks brighten with my words.

"I wasn't _crying."_

I grip the sides of my chair suddenly, closing my eyes and bracing my feet against the ground heavily in imitation of him and he scoffs, though doesn't suppress a smile.

"Come on dude, you tried using a _hot dog _as an excuse to get out of it."

"Uhm, Katniss," Sae says with a raised eyebrow. I turn my head to face her, my smile faltering slightly and she nods toward a miniature crowd I hadn't even noticed forming.

"Oh, sorry!" I say, jumping to my feet and rushing over to help them. I nod my head and respond in a manner I know is right, but my eyes are trained on the smirking boy who stands off to the side.

"I'll catch you later, Katniss," he says with a wave.

"Five," I mutter and he cocks his head to the side with confusion. "I get off work at five."

"Perhaps five then," he nods. "Bye."

"See you."

* * *

As I close up for the day, I'm not surprised to find Peeta nowhere in sight. The flirtatious boy had arrived with a crew of friends after all, and is probably long gone for the day, or at least off somewhere doing something a little more interesting.

His playfulness lingers in the back of my mind all day though, much to my dismay. And as I walk to the ferris wheel alone, I find it embarrassing that I actually start chuckling to myself as I recall his witty banter.

Haymitch only grunts in response to my arrival and starts the ride up without another word once I've taken my seat. It rises slowly and the sun catches in my eyes at a certain level, forcing them closed.

I avert my gaze downward when its glare does not let up and do a double-take in the direction of the gate, where a familiar-looking boy in a fluorescent t-shirt stands, waiting.

The ride circles back to the ground, coming to a stop and when Haymitch opens the gate Peeta is trapped behind, he takes long, confident strides in my direction until he falls down into the seat directly across from me.

"So, what is it you like so much about ferris wheels anyway?" he asks, buckling up his seatbelt as he did the day prior, only this time his hands come to rest in his lap. When the ride starts back up with a lurch however, his eyes immediately close and he takes deep breaths in and out.

"Hello again to you, too," I mumble and watch a smirk dance along his oblivious lips. My eyebrows furrow as I take in the site before me, wondering how the hell I ever got to this point...

But I can't tell him what I like so much about the ferris wheel. There's no right way to _describe_ something like that. And even if there were, it'd involve sharing more information with him than I'm comfortable. Because I can't explain my love for the ride without explaining _everything. _

"I like being off the ground," I opt for instead. "Almost like I'm flying..."

"I hate it," he retorts and I lean back more comfortably.

"And yet, here you are."

His cheeks darken and his hard-pressed lips turn down into a deeper frown before he begins clearing his throat

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to get _over_ my fear," he explains in a rushed tone.

"That's very brave of you," I say with an underlining playfulness to my tone that he immediately picks up on.

"Well, despite what you might of seen yesterday, I'm a very brave person."

"Oh, really?"

"Uh huh."

Slowly, I begin rocking my hips in the seat of the ferris wheel, successfully swaying it back and forth at a pace which he picks up on almost immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his hands flying up to latch onto the metal bars holding us in.

"I'm just helping you get over your fear a little faster!" I insist, smiling a little to myself as the color slowly begins draining from his cheeks.

"I'm over it, I'm over it!" he insists, his volume level going up a little with each word. "Just stop... _moving_ so much... would you?"

"All right, all right," I huff out with exertion, stilling my movements and allowing the cart to slowly stop its drifting from side to side. "But only because I'd rather not have throw up on my shoes."

"How fortunate for me, then," he smirks and I return the look as he chances a glance at me through his otherwise shut eyelids.

When we loop back to the bottom, I fully expect Peeta to call it quits and practically jump off of the ride. Instead though, he stays buckled and even keeps his eyes open as Haymitch starts the ride back up and we suspend higher into the air once more.

As joking laughter falls from our lips, I decide that perhaps Peeta Mellark isn't all that bad. And we go on to talk about jam, and houses, and other things while the ferris wheel goes around and around and around...

* * *

The sun has long set when Peeta and I finally get off from the ferris wheel and stumble toward the main entrance to the fair. We walk lazily, keeping an even-paced conversation until our footsteps stop in the parking lot and Peeta admits he should probably be heading back to wherever it is he's staying this summer.

"Yeah, I should head home too," I sigh, swatting at my arm as I feel a mosquito land on top of it.

We're both silent for a long second, unable to meet one another's eyes, but making no moves to leave either.

"Where is... home?" he finally breathes out, a slight hint of suggestion weaved into his voice which causes me to arch an eyebrow in his direction. Peeta's eyes immediately widen in the moonlight and his hands shoot up as he begins shaking his head wildly.

"No! _No, _I just meant... erm... did you, want a ride or something?"

"Oh," I blink and instinctively my hand curls around my wagon's handle. "No, I'm all right. I have this... wagon."

Peeta's eyes fall down to rest at the old and dented red wagon before turning back up to me.

"Oh right... Jam."

"Jam," I shrug.

The words get carried away in the slight wind and silence lingers in its place for a long second. Peeta takes a sudden swat at his arm, causing me to jump slightly and then an awkward laugh bubbles forth from his mouth, quickly disguised as a clearing of his throat.

"Well, maybe I could walk you home then?" he suggests, his hands buried deep within his pockets and shoulders hunched with the unspoken answer to his question. "I don't feel entirely comfortable leaving you to walk home all alone in the dark."

"Listen city-slicker, I don't know what your walks of life is like, but 'round here people don't just go around shootin' and kidnappin' people," I say with a roll of my eyes. "We have what some might call morals, and this here is about safe as safe gets."

"Still," Peeta says with a light-hearted chuckle, his voice adopting an over-the-top southern drawl. "I'd feel better if I saw to it that you got home safe, miss."

"What a gentleman," I courtesy, mocking his teasing tone. "But, it seems sort of dumb for you to walk all the way to my house just to turn around and walk all the way back here to get your truck."

"Hmm," he says, leaning against an old lamp post with a blinking light. "What do you suppose we do then?"

I shrug my shoulder, my lips pulled up in a playful smirk.

* * *

"Seems as if we've come up with a fairly good solution, don't you think?" Peeta asks from where he leans his head out the driver's seat window.

He keeps his truck at a steady five miles an hour on the abandoned road, driving at the exact same speed it takes for me to walk. My wagon sounds noisily behind us, catching every bump and pebble in the road, but Peeta's old tires do the same.

"You didn't have to," I remind him gently, somewhat happy the moon is on the _other_ side of the sky so as not to illuminate my blushing face.

"Yeah, but I wanted to," he wears the same sort of timid expression I do and turns to glance back at the road for a moment, moving his hand occasionally to steady the wheel before a smirk rises to the corner of his lips. "You have to admit though, this is kind of fun."

I lift an eyebrow up in his direction questioningly and a second later laughter falls between us, easier than I can remember laughter falling between me and anybody else. He pushes his the hair that sticks to his forehead out from in his eyes and for a second I wish I was brave enough to reach forward and do the same.

It's odd and... a little cliche, but there are times in life where you feel so inexplicably close to someone else that it's as though it's _impossible _for you to not have known them longer than you have in reality.

I've never experienced it first hand before, of course, but I have a feeling if I was going to _this_ is the closest I will come.

"Well," I sigh as my wheels and Peeta's tires roll to a stop. "Here we are."

Peeta glances over the dimly lit house as if to remember it before nodding his head with finality.

"I suppose I'll see you soon then?" he asks, and the glimmer of hope weaved within his words is enough to send butterflies coursing through my stomach.

"See you," I mumble and then turn toward the porch of the house without another word.

* * *

"Katniss! Sit your ass down right now!"

It's a couple weeks into July when Peeta finally arrives at our now typical meeting spot out front of the ferris wheel.

From my spot several feet in the air, I can see the redness that sponges his cheeks - due to ungodly humidity not even a slight breeze can fix - and his bright blue eyes, wide with horror as he cranes his neck to look up at me.

"What?" I call down, teasingly pressing my hand to the outside of my earlobe. "I can't hear you from all the way down there."

"Quit standing in that thing, you're going to get yourself killed!" he calls up, a raw sense of panic to his tone, but I only stick my tongue out in defiance, throwing my arms up further into the air and shutting my eyes as a welcoming breeze passes along my sweating face.

"All asses must be _in_ the seats, buckled," the monotone voice of Haymitch rings out over his megaphone and reluctantly I sit down as the wheel slowly spins around and comes to a stop at the bottom.

"Aren't you sick of riding this old thing anyway?" I ask, buckling up my seatbelt as Peeta approaches.

"With you? Never," he breathes, taking both my clammy cheeks into his palms, running his thumb along them tenderly. I deepen into his touch, soaking in the feeling of his calloused fingertips gliding along my skin-

"_All asses must be _in _the seats, _buckled," Haymitch spits with more of an edge to his words and immediately Peeta's hands fall from their grasp on me and his butt lands in the seat across the way. Shortly after, Haymitch resumes the ride, quietly grumbling to himself.

"I brought snacks," Peeta winks in a sing-song voice before pulling open his book bag and flashing the goods that lace it. I peer inside with wide eyes and pull free a bag of gummy worms, slipping half of it inside of my mouth, letting the other side dangle out the side of it.

"So," I ask in-between chews. "How was _volunteering _today?"

"It was _wonderful," _he emphasizes with a smirk before settling slightly more comfortably into his seat. He doesn't reach in his bag for any of the snacks he's provided and still grips anything in sight that's sturdy when the wheel gives unnatural lurches, but his eyes remain open today, which is quite an accomplishment for just a little over four weeks.

"It feels good, getting away from home for a little while," he breathes in and out, like he might truly be relaxing.

"Do you miss it at all?"

His body stiffens on the other side of the cart and his hardened eyes look me over for a tense moment before he shakes his head.

"No. Not really," he admits quietly. The air grows stiff between us and I fiddle with the end of my loose braid for a moment before chancing another glance his way, clearing my throat as if to clear some tension with it.

"I think I'd be too homesick to leave."

"What? You've never left home?" Peeta asks, aghast and I frown at his accusatory tone.

"Sure I have," I scoff, folding my arms into one another. "For vacations and things, but never for this long... or by myself."

"With your family, then?"

"Well... yeah."

"Why?"

The question takes me back and I stare at him with a mix of frustration and confusion, because I'm not sure what it is he's getting at.

"Well, it isn't like you're all by yourself," I jab back. "You're with friends like... camp or whatever. Doing this for extracurricular activity. So it _looks good on college applications-_"

"-Don't you ever just want to get away?"

"-I don't have anything to _run from_," I reply instantly, my voice raising just the slightest. Peeta's eyes grow wide before they revert back down to his lap and he gives the softest shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, hey. That's great then. I mean you've got it all figured out here anyway. If I lived here, I don't think I'd run either. I'm sort of dreading leaving."

I'm silent as the realization that Peeta's residency here is not permanent begins to settle into my system. Of course I already knew this, _he'd told me the first day I met him, _but so quickly these things are forgotten when no one has a particularly good reason for remembering.

"We can change the subject now," Peeta sort of half-heartedly chuckles into the sky.

"What are you running from?" I ask and his head rotates down to meet my eyes. They're wide - frightened, though I'm not sure of what - and his lips are pressed into a hard line.

"Nothing," he insists, quickly. "I'm not running from anything."

"Why don't you want to go back?"

"Not every place is as _cool _as _Panem, _ya know?"

I shake my head and he lets out a warm chuckle.

"Peeta," I breathe. "We're _friends," _I wince when the word hits my lips, because it's all wrong. We're more than that, we're... I don't know. But I can't remember feeling about anyone the way I do about Peeta. The way I crave his company, how my heart actually lurches at the thought of him leaving in just a little under six weeks...

"You can tell me anything, you know?"

"There are some things even friends aren't comfortable knowing," he says. "Trust me, I know. I'm not trying to play the martyr here Katniss, I _want_ to open up and share with you..."

"Then do it."

"I don't know how."

Another tense moment passes.

"I-I've never had to before."

I pull another gummy worm loose from his book bag and tug it into my mouth, chewing slowly and thinking up my words carefully. I gaze down at the lake below us as it glistens under the sun's melting rays before my mouth opens and words spew forth.

"My dad he's..." the words disintegrate on my lips and I search for the right ones to fill the silence. I wish I had inherited my father's ability to speak eloquently, like Prim had, but instead the one quality I seem to possess of my mother is her bluntness and the only word that pushes itself to the surface is: "...dead."

Peeta blinks and I offer him a slight one-shoulder-shrug.

"He is. He's dead and it... _really sucks."_

"Katniss," Peeta begins, an underlying tone of sympathy etched in his voice.

"I know what it's like, to want to get away," I repeat his words from just moments ago. "When I said I wasn't running... I forgot to mention it's because I'm too scared to."

I tell Peeta everything; about how Dad and I used to make and sell the jam together and this is my first summer at it alone. I tell him about Mom and the shell of a person she became after his passing. And finally, after I'm sure he's sick of listening to me drone on, I tell him _why_ I like ferris wheels so much.

"When we first started making jam, I ate it _so much _I ended up making myself sick," I say with a chuckle. "So when Dad asked me to come with him and start selling it at the fair, I was less than thrilled to be honest. And he would bribe me with rides on the ferris wheel to get me to come."

Peeta snickers, shaking his head in time with my own.

"But those turned out to be some of the best nights ever," I sigh, leaning back into the seat. "Okay, now you."

"Katniss..." Peeta begins and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Hey, I shared my dirt with you, now come on, spill," I tease, attempting humor to ease his comfort level, but he only buries his head into his hands with a deep intake of breath.

"I feel like such an ass for even complaining," he admits. "After all you've been through... my life..."

"_Hey," _I stress, reaching out to take his hand in my own. "We might have different struggles but that doesn't mean you don't struggle too."

Peeta's frown deepens with my words and his Adam's apple quivers tightly.

"But by the way, the only thing you've complained about so far is complaining," I remind him with a raised eyebrow and he snickers slightly, causing me to smile.

Peeta doesn't automatically speak. It takes him a good five or six minutes to build up his courage again and sort through his thoughts before he comes out with: "It's my mom."

He holds my attention immediately.

"We don't really get along too well," he says. "She thinks I'm worthless, but I don't know, she might have a point."

"She doesn't," I interrupt, immediately. "You're not worthless."

Peeta shrugs dismissively and without ever having met her, I automatically hate his mother.

"Either way," he continues. "I needed to get away. Clear my mind. _See_ what kinds of things I'm capable of. So in school when I caught wind of this building project, I signed up without second thought. Can't say she was sad to see me go."

My frown deepens.

"But hey, silver linings, right? If I hadn't felt the need to get away we wouldn't be sitting here right now. And I've got to tell you, this has been a great summer."

Peeta has a point and although our conditions are extremely different, given the circumstances, it really has.

"The best."

* * *

By the time we get off the ferris wheel the moon has already begun to make its appearance, and although the sun lingers lazily, it's growing lower in the sky, replacing itself with thick and dark night clouds.

"Well," I breathe heavily, grasping my wagon's handle with both hands. "I guess I should get going..."

"What? You got a hot date?" Peeta asks with an edgy smirk. He keeps a steady pace beside me and nudges his elbow into my own, playfully.

"No..." I trail off, nudging him right back.

"Then where's the fire?" he shrugs his shoulders heavily and when my footsteps slow to a complete stop, he turns to look back at me. "Stay with me."

"Oh... okay," I blink.

"Really?" he asks with so much surprise laced behind his expression I roll my eyes before nodding my head, slowly.

"But only if you can keep me entertained, otherwise I'm calling it quits," I say, folding my arms across my chest stubbornly.

Peeta laughs at the challenge, running a hand through his thick hair.

"I'm sure we can think of something to keep you entertained," He says, wrapping a solid arm around my neck before tugging me closer into him. It's meant as nothing more than a friendly gesture I'm sure, but it doesn't help the fact that with our close proximity, his scent becomes even more delectable and I feel the most tantalizing lurch in the bottom of my belly.

* * *

As what happens more often than not, I lose track of the time in Peeta's presence.

The fair lights up in a whole new way once the sun has gone down and it seems as though the crowds only grow. Rides that seemed boring and obnoxious as a child riding them with my family or friends seem new and exciting now with Peeta.

His favorite are the bumper cars, and we ride them round and around, jabbing one another into the walls and causing each other's cars to spin around dramatically until we're so dizzy we can barely stand up out of the small cars.

"Your hair," Peeta giggles, running his fingers along the loose ends tentatively.

"What? You don't like it?" I tease, noticing the way the static has affected his blonde locks as well. He brushes a lock of hair behind my earlobe, his finger lingering there a second longer than usual before he blinks and turns toward a cotton candy stand, asking if I wanted any.

As it turns out, cotton candy tastes a hell of a lot better with his mouth on the other side of the stick.

We turn the corner where the food vendors are lined up down a brightly lit path where dozens of games are blinking and flashing wildly, all trying to hold our attention.

"These things are usually shams," Peeta mentions, taking another bite of the cotton candy. "But, that's part of the fun of being at a fair, right? Wanna play?"

He grins down at me, extending his hand for me to grab hold of. He takes the wagon's handle in his other one and pulls it lazily behind him, allowing me to direct us in whichever area I'd like to go.

Peeta's right about most the games being impossible to win. Having worked here so many years I'd seen all the tricks different vendors played to cheat people out of money. The ring toss games where the rings were much too small to ever land around the bottles, the fishing one where five out of six of the fish were glued to the circulating game, and even the mechanical claw games that are designed so that the player always comes up empty-handed.

I scan the gamers area until my eyes come to rest on a fairly low-key booth where several of the light bulbs are blinking and the painted-wood has chipped in different areas. I recognize the game as one that was very popular back when I was a child, one my Dad was _very_ good at. He used to win me all kinds of prizes from a giant stuffed-monkey to this blow up hammer I used to pop Prim on the head with.

It's an archery game. With big plastic bows and arrows. The object of the game is to hit as many targets spot on in a minute as possible. There is _always_ a winner, and really no catch.

You just have to have good aim.

I point to it with a cocked eyebrow and Peeta's furrow as he reads over the dimly lit sign.

"Seriously?" he sort of snickers and I roll my eyes, tugging on his arm.

"It's _fun."_

"I'm sure it is," he continues to chuckle, allowing me to drag him closer to the stand. The vendor looks surprised by our presence and immediately straightens his posture from his previously slumped position, grinning enthusiastically.

"Two dollars a player," he says, holding his hand out.

I shove my hand deep down into my tight pocket trying to dig up a couple of loose dollars I know I have crammed inside of it when Peeta places a hand on my shoulder, giving me a questioning look.

"What're you doing?" he asks in-between his final bite of cotton candy. "You're not paying."

"Well _you're_ not paying," I snort and he rolls his eyes, placing a five dollar bill in the guys hand.

"Keep the change."

"Are you trying to show off?" I scoff, feigning annoyance. "Oh, _I'm Peeta Mellark from the city of Capitol and I'm made of money..."_

"Katniss?"

"_Keep the change!"_

"Katniss."

"Huh?"

"...It's five dollars."

The corners of my lips turn up.

"And if it means _that _much to you," he speaks with a twinge of over-exaggeration to his tone. "Loser can pay for the next round."

"Man, you must _really _be made of money."

"Okay miss-snark," he says, taking a daring step closer to me. "Show me how this is done, then."

"Don't mind if I do," I breathe back, allowing my eyes to travel over him before snapping my head in the direction of the game. The vendor waits patiently, handing us our bows and arrows before explaining the task at hand - for Peeta's sake only.

He waits for us to steady our bows, counts to three reaaaaaal slow...

And in the end, I win.

And I win again.

_And, _ha, I win _again. _

"Which prize would you like, miss?" the vendor asks for the third time and my eye catches on the medium sized golden teddy bear that dangles from one ear in the right corner.

"I let you win, you know," Peeta bluffs, attempting a teasing tone, but it's easy to make out bright pink that splotches his cheeks and neck disappearing behind the collar of his shirt.

"I know," I play along, winking up at him when his eyes meet my own. My fingers tangle in the fur of the golden bear for an unsure second before I thrust it out in Peeta's direction wordlessly. A second later, he takes it into his hands, pressing it to his chest.

"Erm..."

"Since you let me win and all," I mumble, suddenly embarrassed by the gesture. I mean, what is a teenage boy going to do with a stuffed bear anyway? I should have just given the damn thing to Prim...

"Well, it's about time I won something around here," he teases with a wide and natural grin that melts into a softer smile that lingers on his lips for a long minute.

"...Thank you," he says and his eyes don't leave mine for a moment.

"You're... welcome," I breathe, studying the way his tongue darts out past his lips just enough to give them a tentative lick softly.

"Hey!" he says, breaking the silence so suddenly I jump. "I heard they're doing fireworks, if you wanted to stay or something."

"Oh, uh, sure," I reply hazily, not entirely sure if my words made any sense to the question I had blatantly missed.

But he smiles as if I've given him the answer he wanted. After a moment, he leans down and places the bear inside of my wagon, settling it comfortably behind the leftover containers of jam and slowly we drift away from the flashing and almost dizzying lights of the game section.

* * *

As I stand in the center of Dad's jam pantry I wonder, with a strange mix of perplexity and anger...

How the hell I'm nearly out.

* * *

I hate today.

I hate everything.

I don't want to be at this fucking fair selling fucking jam in the fucking heat. I want to be home. I want to hug Prim and curl up in bed and sob and I wish _just for today _there was someone to sit there and tell me that everything was going to be okay.

But there is no one.

I am the rock. The hero. And no one is ever there to save the hero.

I glance down at the clock that clings to my sweaty wrist and am relieved to see it reads that there is only about another half an hour until I can close down for the day and duck out before the night crowd arrives.

As I fall back into the uncomfortable lawn chair, effectively crunching my phone, I realize I still haven't informed Peeta of my plans to not meet him tonight.

It's not that we made definite plans to meet or anything, but it's become part of our routine to meet outside of the ferris wheel and I know he'd be worried if I didn't show up this evening without so much as a text.

_Not feeling well. Don't think I can meet up tonight. _

It takes a minute for him to respond, but when he finally does I can sense the confusion in his typed words.

**Everything okay?**

_It will be. I'll see you tomorrow._

I can hardly explain to Peeta why I feel like pure shit when I can't even fully explain it to myself.

"Excuse me, miss!"

I peel my eyes from where they rest on my nubs of fingers which idly pick underneath the nails to meet the eager gaze of a bright eyed girl wearing the same fluorescent colored volunteering shirt I'd seen Peeta sport before.

"What's up?" I greet, not even trying to disguise the distaste which laces my tone.

"Oh! I heard like the _best_ things about your jam! I couldn't leave town without buying some."

Her strawberry blonde corkscrewed hair is pulled back by a long chiffon scarf that hangs over the side of her left shoulder and her slightly chubby manicured fingers dance the tabletop excitedly.

I go back to picking at the dirt that's accumulated itself underneath my nonexistent fingernails, biting at their jagged edges roughly while wiping excess saliva on the thigh of my jeans.

"Hey, kid," Sae says, waving around a greasy old towel to get my attention. I barely cock my head to face her before I notice the way she's eyeballing the girl silently - but not subtly - directing me to provide her with better customer service.

As if this is her damn stand.

As if she's trying to fucking counsel me on some shit.

I spit out a sharp piece of my hangnail from the corner of my mouth and bite my tongue to keep anything from slipping out. She understands immediately in that one look. _Not today Sae. Just not fucking today._

"Hmm... which do you suggest?"

At first I think she's talking with me and I'm about to tell her that I don't have a _damn clue_ which jam I suggest anymore but before I can open my mouth, another's answers for me.

"Definitely the peach."

It's an older man, a customer I've seen come around a couple times here and there, but not regularly enough to know by name. He scratches his bearded neck and tips his head toward the display case of the peach jam.

"It's delicious."

"Mmm," the blonde hums in appreciation, her glass blue eyes resting on me with a giggle, and I swear that girl must not have a single care in the world.

_I wonder what that's like..._

_It must be nice, living in a bubble. _

"I'm sold," she beams. "Can I have one jar of your peach jam?"

"Sure," I grunt, lifting myself out of the low-rising lawn chair and kneeling down by the wagon which I keep tucked away in the only fully-shaded corner of my booth. I sift through the different flavors until my fingers land on the only _peach_ jar in sight.

Keeping a shaky finger placed on it's lid, I twist my body around in all different directions, looking around for in false hope for a jar that does not exist.

I run a hand through my hair and swallow forcefully through my tightening throat, blinking rapidly to rid my eyes of the pesky wetness that collects and wells beneath them.

"Uh," I breathe, clearing my throat as I sort out my words. "I'm sorry, I'm all out."

For the first time since she waltzed up here, the girl's perfectly sculpted face fall into a wrinkly frown.

"...Isn't that a jar right there?" she asks, her tone hinting at confusion as she waves her finger around tirelessly.

"It's not for sale," I speak, an edge of finality to my tone.

"But-"

"_-Not_ for sale," I snap and realization that I need to leave _now _hits me hard.

The air is too humid. The flies are too loud. And this girl and Sae and the man with the neck beard's prying eyes are too painful.

I gather my things without a word, ignoring their mixed expressions of confusion and anger as I pull the display jars out from under their fingertips without so much as a second glance in their direction.

I turn sharply to leave and fall into a pair of strong arms. Without thought, I bury my face into the shirt and cling tightly to it. I know half the fair's eyes are on me right now and I refuse to cry, but the air I continue sucking in deeply seems to grow only more shallow with each passing breath.

"It's okay," the voice soothes, and even though I knew from the moment I landed in his embrace it was Peeta, it feels nice to hear his voice in my ear.

"It's okay."

And for reasons unbeknown to me, I feel inclined to believe him.

* * *

"It's empty," I murmur, my tone reeking of defeat.

Peeta studies the cabinet with two hands on his hips, glancing around with pursed lips.

"It would appear that way," he says with a sigh that I match a moment after him. He turns back to me with bright eyes that flit open and closed before asking: "So, what're we going to do about it?"

"There's nothing we _can_ do, we can't bring it back from the past," I groan, lowering myself into a sitting position, slinking my hands over my face tiredly. "I might as well just close up the stand early. There's only a couple weeks left this season anyway-"

"-Katniss, it's only July," Peeta snickers.

"The _end_ of July," I counter. "Fair'll be closing in the beginning of September."

The crickets hiding in the tall grass outside of the open door chirp loudly and after a moment, when Peeta still hasn't responded I chance a glance up at him through my fingers. His arms are folded across his chest and through the dim lighting I can see an eyebrow raised along with the corners of his lips.

"What?"

"You are such a downer," he shakes his head, still laughing. "It's a good thing you're cute."

My mouth drops.

Peeta winks.

And I think both of us blush a little bit.

"Only cute?" I challenge playfully and he bends down so that he's at my height and takes both my cheeks in his palms similar to the way he had on the ferris wheel weeks ago.

"All right then, _hot," _he whispers, and I swear his voice is an octave lower than usual. My stomach gives an involuntary lurch and I can't do anything but blink in his gaze.

"Both in and out, of course," he adds a second later, and then jumps into a standing position. "Well, do you have a recipe of some sort? Ingredients?"

He might as well be talking a different language, because although I see his lips moving the only thing my mind can focus on is his sultry tone from a minute ago and what I can possibly do to get him to use it again.

Peeta snaps a finger in my face and I jump, much to his amusement.

"Come on now, I have a curfew to make and I can't be out past two in the morning, so let's get to gettin'!"

He extends a hand in my direction and helps lift me up to my feet, guiding me out into the moonlight and locking the near-empty pantry door behind him.

We take high steps through the tall grass I've neglected to mow since the snow melted last spring and with every brush against it's roots, baby fireflies spin around wildly in their wake.

"I've uh... never made it alone," I say, tugging a piece of hair behind my ear, because I feel he has the right to know. The right to back out of this still.

We're nearly to the door when Peeta's fingertips brush against mine, forcing me to face him.

"You're not alone."

* * *

Peeta keeps well on his promise and doesn't leave until he's forced to in order to make curfew. By that time, we've already made four new batches of jam, which will end up jarring several containers full.

When I walked through the door, carting Peeta along with me, Prim did a double-take and immediately offered her help, even though she has never made jam a single day in her life.

The recipe was simple enough to follow. Etched out in Dad's handwritings with silly old sayings only he'd think up and smears of berry stains on some of the pages.

Prim volunteered to mash the fruit up until it made a nice puree - a job that was to be done at the table a few feet away from the kitchen. At first I was oblivious to her scheme, but as I caught her raising her eyebrows and puckering her lips from the corner of my eye it became painfully evident why she opted to leave us in the kitchen alone.

Nothing happened though. Which I have to admit, kind of bummed me out. I don't know what I was expecting... after a meltdown and a night of slave laboring over jam, but, as I pull on my shoes to walk Peeta to his truck, I motion for Prim to go upstairs... just in case.

"It was nice meeting you Prim," Peeta says with a crooked smile. "Hopefully I'll see you again?"

Even Prim couldn't help but blush under his stare, and I arch an eyebrow at her as she twists her feet and fiddles with her hair nervously on the top step.

"Uhm, yeah. Later," she giggles and then scampers away.

"So, we did it," Peeta says airily as he pushes through the front door, hopping off the porch step onto the gravel walkway. The stones crunch under his shoes as he walks to stand opposite of where I lean over the teetering porch railing.

"Yeah, looks like we did."

My heart pangs uncomfortably with the word _we_, because even though he's standing right here with me now, I can't help but think about what I'll do the next time I run out of jam. Refuse a customer service because it's _Peeta's_ last jar? Throw myself into a mental breakdown?

Most likely. Only next time, no one will be there to catch me in their arms.

"Thank you," I swallow tightly, blinking away the added perspiration behind my eyelids. "You didn't have to stay. I could have figured something out, or somethin'..." I finish lamely, inwardly cursing myself.

"You know, with all these "you didn't have to's" I'm beginning to wonder if you really want me around," Peeta smirks and my cheeks redden profusely.

"No! God, I didn't mean it like that. I just meant-"

Peeta's finger comes to land on my lips, stroking the bottom one tenderly, willing them to stop moving.

"-It's a joke," he whispers, trailing a heated path down the side of my cheek, resting on my chin.

"I do," I whisper back and his eyebrows furrow slightly.

"You do...?"

"Want you around," I clarify. "I do."

I study the crinkles that form in the corner of his upturned lips.

"Prove it," he breathes, the hand on my chin clinging ever tighter.

My neck extends and with the advancement, his does as well and our eyes lock with one another until the last possible second, when his face is so close to mine I can feel his breath and then we're kissing.

It's not like I've gone around kissing a ton of people before to compare it to, but this one time at my friend Madge's birthday party we were playing spin the bottle and Gale Hawthorne's spin landed on me.

It was awkward. Partly because it was a known fact by everyone that Gale and Madge had a thing for each other, partly because we were inexperienced fourteen year olds, and partly because Gale's breath smelled like chicken wings and pizza...

So, it's not like I have a ton of experience... but I'm sure even if I did, Peeta's kiss would still rank the highest.

He entwines a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in closer to meet his slightly parted lips and when I pull on the collar of his button down he lets out the softest mewl that sends shivers down my spine.

It's the kind of moment I wish I had a rewind button for, and when Peeta finally pulls away, our ragged breaths forming a white cloud of air in-between us, I draw his lips back for one last tiny peck.

In that moment, the last of Dad's jam is momentarily forgotten. Every bad thing ever has been thrown onto the back burner.

Until Peeta opens his mouth.

"I can't ever leave Panem now," he breathes.

And we both know he has no choice but to.

* * *

There are only a couple days remaining in August and already the trees have begun to turn their green leaves over to hues of red and yellow.

Peeta finishes with volunteering down the street sooner than I do with work and comes to meet me at my stand rather than our typical spot by the ferris wheel.

Next week, Peeta will be back in Capitol. And although neither of us bring it up, there is a very real thickness to the air as we make our normal trudge across the fair, knowing that soon enough it'll be over.

He slips into the seat next to me today and as we make a move to buckle up the long belt our fingers brush and come to rest in a pile on his lap.

Peeta doesn't close his eyes anymore, or look down at the carts floor, or even grip the side of the cart nervously as we begin to go up and around. I catch him looking out into the distance the higher we grow, his bright blue eyes flickering in all different directions though his head stays perfectly still.

"Remember when you told me you hated ferris wheels?" I tease, squeezing our knotted fingers and Peeta chuckles playfully, cocking his head to my direction.

"Liar," I whisper, sing-song like.

"No, I hadn't been lying," he shakes his head. "I only got on this thing in the first place for you."

"No, you got on because your annoying friend called you a _pussy," _I smirk and his cheeks twinge red at the memory.

"Fine, then the only reason I got on in the _second_ pl-"

Peeta's words are cut off as the wheel gives a large shake, jerking further up a couple inches before coming to a halting stop completely.

"What's going on?" his voice turns from smooth to panicked immediately and he looks from side to side as if the answer will jump out at him.

"I don't know," I speak evenly. "I'm not the wheel whisperer."

Haymitch comes over the loudspeaker, un-enthused and apparently unconcerned about the state of the ride.

"She's having some technical difficulties," he announces, hacking up something into the bushes behind him. "Someone'll be coming 'round soon to fix it. Just... er... hang tight."

His laughter catches in the speaker before he signs off and Peeta's frown deepens. His rosy cheeks have adopted the same ghostly white color they were the very first day and my fingers are almost purple under his grip.

The wheel makes ungodly noises, churning and grinding and whining but never moving. I don't tell Peeta, but even I'm lost as to how they plan on getting us down.

"We're going to die up here," he says, so quietly I wonder if I was even supposed to hear it.

I respond anyway.

"Probably."

"Now is not the time to tease, Everdeen," Peeta scolds, although under the anguish his voice holds a distinct _teasing_ tone. "When my ass is on the ground, _then_ you can tease."

"Who said anything about teasing?" I say, hinting at seriousness. "Shit is real right now."

"Katniss..."

"Oh, calm down, they'll get us down," I smirk. "Happens all the time."

"_Does it."_

"No."

I'm not afraid of heights, like Peeta, but I don't particularly enjoy being _stuck. _The gondolas seems to grow smaller and smaller and although there is whipping fresh air surrounding us, the feeling of being trapped begins to overwhelm me.

"They're bringing a cherry picker," Haymitch keeps us posted, about ten minutes later.

There's a miniature crowd down below that surrounds the wheel, hoping to see some action on the dead day at the fair and when I try to point them out to Peeta, hoping to train his mind elsewhere, he turns a new shade of green.

"I hadn't realized we were this high," he breathes unevenly.

"It's all right," I try. "They're coming with the cherry picker."

"And what the hell are they going to do with that?"

"We're going to get up out of this seat-" before I can finish, Peeta is groaning. "Step into their device and be lowered safely to the ground. Easy peasy."

"Says the girl who _stands in ferris wheels for fun."_

I stick my tongue out at him even though his eyes are closed and he's no longer looking in my direction. My thumb traces soothing patterns over the back of his hand for the tense minutes it takes for help to arrive and then, in a few fearful moments, we're back on the ground.

"Never again!" Peeta laughs as we make our way out from the fair. "I mean it, _never_."

"Oh quit lying, you know you'll be back in line tomorrow."

"Nope," he smirks, his feet coming to a stop as we grow closer to the parking lot. The sun still lights up the sky though it's begun to cast of lazy shades of pinks and oranges.

"What do you want to do?" Peeta asks, sticking his hands in his pockets. After eventually getting down from the wheel, we had opted to leave the fair for the night.

"Well, I was thinking, if you wanted to meet me in about an hour, there's something I want to show you. I just want to go home and freshen up a little first."

The heat hadn't been horrible today, but the humidity did well to make it feel as though it had and everything about me feels _gross. _Peeta understands without further question and tells me he'll pick me up at my house in a little over an hour.

"Talk to you then!" he calls out, walking in the direction of his car.

"See you."

* * *

By the time Peeta arrives, the sky has turned a deep royal shade of blue and his truck's lights cast shadows through my open bedroom window.

"Be right down!" I call out and he flashes me a thumbs up before I disappear down the hall.

Prim is in Mom's room, braiding her hair and talking nonchalantly before turning to look up at me.

"I'll be back a little later," I say and Prim grins, knowingly before wishing me a good evening.

"Bye Prim, Bye Mom," I say and Mom's eyes flicker in my direction before she raises a hand and waves a timid goodbye.

"So where are you taking me?" Peeta asks once I've buckled up and he's pulling down the main road again.

"Just drive straight."

There's very few twists and turns in Panem, so after a few miles of _just driving_ we exit the "high-traffic" town area and enter cornfield country.

"Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?"

"Just drive straight," I repeat and Peeta snickers, following instruction.

Where I instruct leads to a large, open field of tall grass, miles away from anyone else. When we were younger, we used to drive out here at night to go star gazing and Prim and I would run around and play. My reasoning for this specific location becomes apparent as soon as Peeta casts his eyes upward and his jaw goes slightly slack as he puts the car into park.

"_Wow," _he breathes.

"I know," I nod, studying him instead of the sky. The corners of his fallen lips turn up as he stares off ahead in amazement and I smirk slightly too.

"I couldn't let you leave town without seeing this. It's one of my favorite parts about Panem."

The moon is big tonight, settling itself out in the distance and radiating the sky with it's glow. I can't remember the sky ever looking _clearer. _

When I pull the lever on the side of my seat, pushing it back further, Peeta turns to me with a nervous glance before clearing his throat.

"Do you wanna lay down in the back?" he asks, and I don't miss the sultriness to his tone. "We could probably see the stars better out there anyway."

"Okay," I whisper.

I hop out of the front seat in an instant and Peeta twists his body around to reach for two blankets behind him. At first, I sort of half expect for him to hand me one and take the other, but when we walk around to the back of the truck and he pulls the hinge open, he lays one down along the bottom of the bed and then motions for me to climb in.

I kick off my old muddy sneakers before jumping up into the high bed, followed a moment later by Peeta, who throws the other blanket over the top of both of us. Peeta pulls me in further to him and I rest my head on his chest, our feet entwining effortlessly before turning up to look back at the stars.

He runs his fingers up and down over the exposed curve of my back, growing higher with each pass and effectively speeding my breathing. The hand that rests on top of his chest clenches into a fisted ball around his shirt and slowly, my hips move impossibly closer to his.

My movement doesn't go past his notice and he cranes his head down to meet my eyes, pushing back loose hairs from my face that have managed to escape my braid over the day. He presses a kiss to my temple and instinctively, I slide a hand up to the side of his face, willing for him to come closer instead of moving back away.

He complies, arching his neck forward and catching my lips with his own. They're hot and a sheen of sweat has formed just above his upper lip, mixing an edge of salt to his underlying sweetness. Peeta adjusts his body into a slight leaning position while I trail kisses over the side of his jaw, eliciting soft gasps and moans from him with every swipe of my tongue.

I don't know where it comes from; the confident girl who hitches a leg over the top of his, grabbing hold of his shoulders roughly to use as leverage to align their hips... but it feels too good to stop so when Peeta takes my tongue into his mouth, sucking on it tantalizingly, my hips buck forward into his own.

He groans instinctively, a deep sound that starts from the bottom of his chest and works its way forward until it's bubbling to the surface and into my mouth.

And I love it. And I want to make him do it again and again.

I feel the bulge pressing against my groin grow harder with the movement and awkwardly, our hips pick up on their own rhythm, swaying against each other in time with our lips.

Between the combination of sweat and the wetness I feel pooling in my groin, my thighs feel sticky and slippery against the fabric of Peeta's jeans and I wonder if he can feel how _hot _I am against him.

His hands travel up my back and back down over my sides causing my skin to pebble under his touch. I feel the tips of his fingers brush under the bottom of my shirt, passing over my belly button and dragging the material a little further up before it falls back down and his hands continue their trace over the curve of my breast.

I break away from his lips to let out a sharp gasp and he wastes no time moving the tease of his lips to the sensitive base of my neck and over my collarbone. My head tips back in pleasure and I allow my eyes to roll closed as my fingers knot in his hair, tugging on it hard as he swirls his tongue over the very top of the valley leading to my breasts.

His hands wait patiently at my hips for further compliance and I pry one shaking hand free from its grip on his head to curve over the back of his hand, helping it to pull the material of my shirt further up my stomach and over the top of my head.

Peeta's kisses stop and his bright eyes are trained on me. The shade of blue that normally overtakes his eyes is replaced with deep blackness as his pupils widen further under the moonlight.

I toss the discarded material off to the other side of his truck and pull no punches as my fingers immediately snake behind me, tugging on the tricky material of my bra.

"Katniss," Peeta gasps, his head darting from left to right. "Are you sure we should be doing this... _here?"_

I follow his gaze, raising an eyebrow at him as we look around the deserted field.

"In a town of two-hundred," I begin, pulling the last hook loose. "_No one_ is going to be _here_ at nine o'clock at night."

The material falls loose and I look to Peeta expectantly.

With a slightly slack jaw, he fingers the strap that dangles off my right shoulder and pulls down slowly, his eyes coming to rest on the flesh that peeks out of the off-white cup encircling my chest. He makes quicker work of the other side, throwing the device into the pile along with my shirt and cupping the flesh in his palm. He grazes his thumb over my nipple, making it stand on end with the attention given to it before he leans down and wraps his lips around the opposite one.

"Peeta," I gasp, running my hands over the length of his arms. I maneuver my hands underneath him, pulling the buttons free from his shirt, momentarily fumbling over myself as his teeth glide along me in the most tantalizing way.

With the last button freed, Peeta pulls the thing off his arms and turns down immediately to his pants, tripping over himself to loosen them. He breathes out in a deep sigh as he unzips the fabric, lifting his hips to kick them down his legs.

There's a noticeable bulge nestled against the right thigh of his boxer briefs and with it so close, just a thin piece of fabric separating it from me, my fingers twitch to reach out and grab hold of it.

"I uh... hope that wasn't too forward of me," Peeta speaks, his words coming out nearly inaudible.

It takes me a second to realize he's spoken and when I do I blink up in his direction, dazed.

"Hmm?"

He chuckles, evidently feeling slightly awkward, and runs a hand through his hair.

"It's just that... you're like, the coolest person in the world... wait, that came out wrong. Shit let me start over-"

"Peeta," I smirk, placing a hand in his own and he stares at me with a sheepish expression.

"You're the coolest person in the world, too," I say. "And it wasn't too forward of you. I uh... I think we both were well aware of where this was headed."

"So you won't kill me for telling you I have a condom, then?" he challenges and I roll my eyes, pulling myself off from on top of him, letting my hands travel down to the button of my shorts.

"Peeta Mellark, it's not right to assume," I tease, pushing both my shorts and underwear down in one false swoop. His eyes widen incredibly, but refuse to leave my eyes. Slowly, as if unsure he's really allowed to look, he lets his gaze trail down to rest between my legs.

It's the first time a man has ever looked at me and I feel completely exposed, but the rush of it all is so thrilling and exciting, I can't find it in me to hide or cover myself back up. The air feels nice against my naked flesh; warm enough to keep my skin from pebbling, but the slight breeze feels good against the clammy backs of my knees.

Peeta takes my initiative as an invitation to join me and carefully pries his own underwear from his body. Unlike him, I waste no time looking down and involuntarily lick my lips as I take in the sight of his naked form fully for the first time.

"Ugh, you can't look at me like that," Peeta groans, his head tipping back slightly. "Unless you want this to be over very shortly."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, unapologetically and come to rest myself over the top of him. We both let out a shaky shutter as our skin connects for the first time. His eyes flutter close and he inhales deeply, grasping both my hips tightly to hold my body still.

I feel his groin pulse against my thigh and press myself further into it, eliciting a quiet whimper from the boy beneath me. The flesh is hot, slightly jumpy and completely addictive.

I trace kisses over the freckles that spot Peeta's shoulders as he twists his body to reach into his wallet; pulling a small square foil package from one of the slots. With shaking hands, he splits the packaging open before grabbing hold of the condom and discarding it.

I bend down to grab the thin blanket we had previously been using for covering while he works the condom over his erection easily. He pinches the tip of it before turning us over so that my back is the one against the trucks bed and he is leaning over the top of me. The blanket falls over either side of him, creating almost a dome over us, successfully shutting everything and one from the world.

Tonight, it is just me and him.

"Katniss," Peeta breathes, reaching down to grasp his cock in his hand. "This is the first time I've done anything like this."

I hadn't thought to ask. And I'm not sure why I had just assumed... but either way the news doesn't entirely shock me. I reach a hand down below, wrapping it around his own to guide him closer to me.

"Me either," I promise as the tip passes through my slick folds. He gives a quiet grunt at the contact, his head falling forward limply and the arm that supports him shakes with force.

He pushes into me, and we both gasp sporadically - him with pleasure, me with a strange mix of pain and pleasure - and I fist the blanket underneath me tighter. Peeta supports himself with both arms now, using the one to reach out and stroke the hair from my face easily.

"Are y-you... _ahhh _okay?" he gets out euphorically and wills his hips not to buck until I nod my head, urging him to just move slowly. He complies easily, pulling out until I almost feel empty with the loss of contact before plunging back in, filling me completely. It's not that it really _hurts _so much as stretches uncomfortably, and the longer it continues, the less uncomfortable the stretching becomes and the more it starts to feel... _really good._

Peeta's lips find mine again, nipping at my lower lip as his tongue prods for entry into my mouth. I loop an arm around his back, my fingernails digging into his muscular skin with each solid thrust, and with the next pass I moan out deeply.

Peeta lowers his weight down onto me fully, using his hips as leverage enough to buck into me, and I like the new position because it allows me to be impossibly closer to him, and his hands are free to explore. The one hand paints down my side, coming to rest on my hip bone before I take hold of it in my own, guiding it between the connected part of our bodies.

He slows his movements again, dropping his head to look down in-between us as I guide his fingertip to land over the small bundle of nerves I know to be pleasure-inducing. His forefinger swipes over the hood gently and I bite my lip in appreciation. He grins at the discovery and instinctively begins moving his hips faster, his breaths speeding up noticeably.

His finger mimics his thrusts and swipes over me quickly causing me to thrash my head from left to right and tighten around him instinctively.

"Ahh! Katniss," Peeta hisses as I do so and his fingers falter just slightly. "That feels... _so good... _I don't know if I... can hold it... much longer."

I bring our entwined fingers to my mouth and kiss them in reassurance, my mouth dropping open widely as my own impending orgasm begins to build.

"Let... go," I instruct and in inhales deeply, holding his breath until his face turns bright red before releasing with a loud groan. I feel him twitch inside of me, spilling himself into the condom and the irregular movements of his fingers and times of his thrusts cause the build within me to rise to extreme heights before I topple over the edge alongside him.

"Oh god," he mumbles, thrusting lazily into me as we slow our ragged breaths. I can feel his heartbeat through his chest into my own and slowly to falls into a normal pattern.

"I heard sex was good... but... _oh god," _he shakes his head, unable to speak and I chuckle, leaning up to meet his lips with my own briefly. He lifts himself up from on top of me pulls the condom free from himself, cleaning up a bit.

Immediately I feel empty from the loss of contact and curl the blanket over my naked form more fully. He rests his head against my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, pushing it back.

"You're all sweaty," I murmur and he wipes his head on me further, laughing when I squeal.

We're quiet for a long time after that, holding onto one another and staring up at the starry sky. Peeta tells me the constellations aren't nearly as clear back in Capitol, that the light pollution is bad enough that they're hardly ever visible from his home.

"Another reason to stay in Panem," I hint, my tone playful though the words are serious. Peeta laughs anyway and nods his head.

"Yes, I'm sold now because of the stars."

I almost bring up next week, but the words don't seem to want to leave my mouth. I'm curious as to what he plans to do after leaving Panem - if anything - and wonder if he's given any thought at all to our situation.

But, it's like I said to Peeta earlier, we both knew we were headed to where tonight lead, and I know, no matter the answer, it would have happened anyway.

* * *

The day creeps up on me.

Just yesterday I had prepared myself. I'd known it was coming. That today was _the last _day. And yet, the suddenness of it hits me mid-day, as I'm selling a jar of strawberry jam and the image of Peeta licking its sweetness off his fingers invades my memory.

There's still four days left until the fair closes for the season, but Peeta has to leave for Capitol this evening to start his classes Monday morning. The rest of his friends left early this morning, but Peeta opted to hang back and surprised me this morning by showing up at the stand to help.

It was a slow day. People lingered occasionally, bought infrequently and passed on.

It's no longer unbearably hot outside, and when a breeze passes through the park, a large stack of Sae's napkins scatter on the pavement from its force.

After closing, Peeta helps me clean up for the last time before taking the wagon in his one hand and mine in the other, walking lazily through the grounds over to the ferris wheel.

The typically open gate leading up to the ride is closed off and when Peeta puts a hand on it, giving it a slight tug we find it's locked. Haymitch leans in the same spot as always, a half-smoked cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, eyes averted in the opposite direction of where we stand.

"Haymitch," I call out, leaning on the old wooden posts which circle the wheel. "Hey, Haymitch!"

"Whadda ya want, sweetheart?" he grumbles, without turning. "Ride's closed."

"Season doesn't end for another few days," I scoff. "Come on, let us ride one more time."

"Can't," he sighs. "Don't you read?"

"Read what?"

He bends down into his booth, grumbling incoherently to himself before pulling loose a sign and flashing it in our direction. In large, bold print letters, it reads: **OUT OF ORDER.**

From the corner of my eye, I see Peeta's head shift in my direction, but I can't seem to pry my eyes from the words. I stare at the sign intently, trying to make sense of it in my mind, searching desperately for a loop hole.

"It'll be repaired for next season, right?" I finally ask, so long after Haymitch has finished talking that he jumps a little at the sound of my voice.

"I don't know kid," he says, and his typical monotone voice adopts a hint of emotion. "She's pretty old. This'll probably be her last season."

Haymitch shuffles hastily to face me, his frown long and deep. His old gray eyes widen slightly and he purses his lips, gripping the wooden railing across from me.

I silently wonder what'll happen to the man with the tough exterior if there is no wheel next summer. He's made it abundantly clear the wheel is _his_ to run and maintain... and now that he can't...

A painfully acute sense of finality rings in my ears as everything around me continues to change. As if to prove my point further, a brush of fallen leaves lift from the ground with a breeze, swirling around Peeta and my feet.

"Ahh, who gives a fuck about an old ferris wheel anyway?" Haymitch grumbles, half-heartedly kicking the air. "In this age of technology, all the kids are worried about is how fast and scary rides are."

"_I _give a fuck," I murmur, gripping the handle of my wagon tighter in my palm and the corners of Haymitch's lips lift.

"You and me both, kid."

He pulls a liquor bottle - poorly disguised as such with a flimsy paper bag over the top of it - out from his booth and takes a deep swig, shrugging his shoulders.

"But, what's done is done. Time to move on."

Peeta places a gentle hand on my back, guiding me in the opposite direction of the wheel, and I let him. They say clean breaks from the things you love are the easiest, but love is messy and vibrant and painful.

There is no _easiest_way to say goodbye.

Not to something you love.

* * *

Peeta drives his truck five miles an hour on the empty road, matching my lazily walking pace. He leans an arm out through the open window and rests his head in it, occasionally glancing ahead at the nothingness.

I don't look at him though. I watch the small pebble I've been kicking with the sole of my shoe since we left the fair. It hops a couple feet from the force, then waits. Hops, then waits. And I just keep kicking it further away from me.

Peeta doesn't try to get me to say anything. He knows there's nothing to say. His tires sound soft against the paved road and the hum from his old engine is like a consistent melody.

"I'll probably never see you again," I chuckle humorously, out of nowhere, and it's true. The thought has flickered to my mind several times over the course of the summer, but this is the first it's slipped from my mouth.

"Knock it off," Peeta warns with deeply furrowed eyebrows.

"It's true!" although my lips are still turned up with sick amusement, it's more of a grimace than a smile and I can feel the corners begin to quiver embarrassingly. I bite back the sob that wants desperately to spill forth.

"It's not true," Peeta promises, his tone quiet and soothing. "This isn't goodbye, Katniss Everdeen."

The taste of metallic pools in my mouth as I bite my lip a little too hard.

"You'll be seeing me again."

"By next summer, who knows what could happen?" I snap, frowning intently in his direction. "You can't promise that, you don't know."

"Course I do," he retorts, pulling into the gravel driveway of my house. I meet his gaze fully for the first time since we left the fair and on his lips is an annoyingly calm, plastered smile.

"In fact, I can assure you you'll be seeing me _before_ next summer."

"And why is that?"

"We have jam to make," he winks and I grip my wagons handle tighter.

"So this is goodbye for now, then?" my voice catches on the last word and I don't try to hide the fat tear which rolls down my cheek lazily. Peeta puts the truck into park and before he can fully open the door I've fallen into his broad arms.

He swings his hips around and my body falls comfortably in-between his parted legs. His hands run along my back, tracing soothing patterns while resting his cheek against the top of my scalp.

"But I'll be seeing you," he whispers reassuringly before pulling his hands up to cup either side of my damp cheeks. He pulls my face to his own and my wet eyelashes brush my upper-cheeks as they float closed and I sink deeper into him.

"I'll be seeing you," I whisper back when our lips part, our foreheads pressed to each others tightly.

With another tight squeeze he lets go all together and I back away dejectedly, crossing my arms over my chest. His engine roars to life and I watch as Peeta adjusts his mirrors before glancing back at me through his open window.

"I'll text you when I get to Capitol."

"Kay."

"Goodbye grumpy," Peeta speaks, his tone so mockingly deep and ridiculous I can't help with my traitorous face begins to lift in a smile.

"Goodbye."

"Adios!" Peeta calls as he begins slowly backing out of the drive.

"Ta-ta for now," I counter.

"Arrivederci."

"See you."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading :) Feel free to follow me on tumblr: finnickshardtrident.


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